The Hotch Chronicles
by MaddieNicole
Summary: A collection of one-shots focused on Hotch and his POV.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is an idea that has been floating around in my head for a while, now. I recently read a story written in the 2nd person and thought it was really unique and enjoyable. Then I realized that Hotch was the perfect kind of character to write in this style. Here are a few shots I took at it. They're just tiny blurbs that aren't related to each other.

My goal is to keep this about Hotch's relationship with everyone, not just with JJ (though, don't worry, there are Jotch moments). This is a new venture for me and I'm excited about it. At first I thought it'd be challenging to avoid my standard JJ/Hotch shipping, but it is surprisingly easy (and fun) to write about his interaction and experiences with others.

My closing remarks: This is a new thing, fresh off the table. Don't know how it is or where it is going to go. I may be far off or I may be close…in short PLEASE REVIEW.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Criminal Minds.

The Hotch Chronicles

/1/

You are their stoic leader to whom they are firmly loyal. In return, you are just as devoted to them. It is a mutual respect carved deep within your souls and while it is rarely verbally acknowledged, it is fully understood.

Morgan will vigorously defend you, you've seen it. He will challenge you when his heart tells him to and his arguments are passionate. He is your number one. He can lead as easily as he can follow. And while your leadership styles contrast, you can trust his way will be as effective as yours.

Blake, while new, is a steady beacon of calmness for your team. She took some of that responsibility from you—the transfer was natural—and you're okay with that. She can handle anything placed before her, like all of them can, but her approach is distinctive to her seasoned skills.

JJ is vital. When you're on a case, she will delicately balance professional compartmentalization and her humanity. In the midst of crime scene photos and gruesome M.E. reports, she will find a way to subtly remind each team member that good things are still present in this world. Her role has formally changed to "profiler", but she maintains the charisma and quick thinking that came with her previous title. Pressure still doesn't alter her; she puts her back to it and chooses to focus on the job and discreetly care for the team, and you, instead.

Reid will always be "Spence" or "Kid" as long as JJ and Morgan are here. To you, he will always be the young man who saved you from yourself. When he gets caught up in a statistical rant, whether it is in front of a death row inmate about to fight you or to another member of the team, you've learned to let him get it out of his system and finish. You didn't know that you'd find his indiscernible ramblings therapeutic one day.

Dave is your oldest friend and confidant. He observes his surroundings quietly and acknowledges them with a nod of his head, then makes his voice heard. He's an instigator and knows the job inside and out. He is your devil's advocate when you need one and your anchor when you recklessly get lost in a case.

Garcia is essential to the BAU, to a point you never could have imagined eight years ago. Without her, you aren't sure how much longer your team, or you, could function. Outsiders would call her unprofessional, but you see her quirks and bright colors as necessities for team morale. She is a breath of fresh air. It is comforting to you to know at least one person on your team will not become jaded; someone the job won't tarnish. That isn't possible with someone like Penelope Garcia.

As you think of your unit, you know that each one of them considers the other family. Those figures are absent for many of them outside the job, after all. You remember when you realized _you _were included in this "family" sentiment and how it made you stop and think. At first, your eyebrows creased together out of concerns of impropriety; you always follow the rules and believed in enforcing them.

But then Elle left, who was followed by Gideon shortly thereafter. Cases like Hankel, New York and Canada happened. Foyet happened. And somewhere amongst the chaos you subconsciously accepted the team as your family too.

When you came to the realization, your eyebrows didn't crease but instead, you felt the corners of your lips move upwards.

/2/

You knew something was amiss when you returned. Dave intercepted you a few steps into the station and told you to come with him. You glanced over to your team where they were huddled around the long conference table you and them had been taking up residence for the past five days. You didn't need to use your profiling skills in order to tell they were anxious. None of them met your eyes and a sense of dread began to stir within you. You followed Dave for a few strides before you couldn't take another second and demanded you be told what was wrong.

"They're okay," Dave started.

"Jack?" You didn't need to ask; Dave's eyes told you everything you needed to know.

"He and Jessica were in a car accident…"

You knew Dave kept talking but you didn't hear him. It felt as if ice was coursing through your veins. You desperately looked at your phone in your hand but there were no messages.

"…tried calling you but we're in the middle of nowhere…"

The only thought in your mind was finding a way to get to your son. You had to see him and make sure for yourself he was okay.

"I need to get home." You were surprised at how in control your voice sounded because when it came to Jack and his well-being, it was easy to become frantic.

"JJ's working on it now."

That was 24 hours ago.

Now, you are sitting at the side of your bed where Jack is sleeping. The bedside lamp casts your room in a yellow hue which accentuates the angry, purple bruise on your son's right cheek. Just above it there is a bandage on his brow where there is a cut and six stitches. You've memorized every inch of his injured face and it is all you can think about.

You're thankful Jack is brave because it allowed him to be calm in the face of your worry. People always say he gets his fearlessness from you but you've always known he got it from Haley. She was courageous in her own right, until the very end. You glance upwards, almost believing you'll see her reassuring smile, but you're met with a blank, white ceiling instead. You sigh, close your eyes and silently send her an apology for not being with Jack when he got hurt. You apologize for Jessica's broken arm, too, even though you know there was nothing you could have done. However, deep down you still feel responsible.

You look to the clock on the nightstand and decide it is time to wake up Jack for his concussion check. You run a gentle hand through his blonde hair—again Haley's—and take comfort in its softness.

"Jack? Can you wake up for me?"

After a minute you are greeted with your son's sleepy, Haley-blue eyes. "Hey, Buddy. How are you feeling?"

"Okay, Dad."

Your hand is still in his hair as you rub your thumb over his forehead. "Do you want some juice?"

Jack nods and you reach over to the nightstand and hand him one of his old sippy cups with a plastic lid. He takes it silently, this time without protesting that the cup was "for babies". After a few sips Jack gives it back and exhales. You feel his eyes on you as you set the cup back down on the nightstand. You meet his gaze full on and wait for him to say something.

"Is Aunt Jessie okay?"

The first few times he repeated this question you were worried that he wasn't remembering things. However, it soon became clear he was seeking reassurance that his only Aunt was safe.

"She's okay, Jack. She's at home resting."

"Are you okay, Daddy?"

This is a new question and it takes you off guard. You give your son a quick smile, not wanting to frighten him.

"Sure I am, Bud." You can tell he doesn't believe you and you wonder when he became so intuitive. You admit he's always been good at reading others, but you always thought you managed to hide your fears from your son. "I was just scared for you, that's all. I'm very glad you're okay now."

He looks down and peeks back up at you. "I'm sorry I scared you."

You immediately shake your head and take one of his fidgeting hands. "No, no, Jack. You don't ever need to be or should be sorry for things like that, okay?"

He gives you a small quirk of his lips, something you know he got from you.

"Okay."

You give Jack a smile. "Okay."

"Are you gonna get in bed?"

"I think I'm going to stay up a while longer, Buddy. Go back to sleep."

Jack sighs and doesn't even have the energy to nod. Within seconds he's back to sleep and you're content with simply watching him dream.

/3/

"Go fish." At first you felt ridiculous playing this card game with someone other than your eight-year-old but you're finding Reid's scowls and JJ's nose scrunching entertaining.

"Again!?"

"You don't believe me?" You cock your eyebrow at Reid and smirk.

"Well I do I just…I hate this game!" He begrudgingly picks up a card from the middle pile. You look to JJ on your right and the two of you share a smile at Reid's groan. "Go ahead, JJ," Reid grumbles.

She eyes both of you and bites her lip. You chuckle at her concentration because you think it is out of place during such a simple card game. JJ's competitive streak certainly carries over to all forms of play.

"Reid, do you have any…no wait!" You look over at her expectantly since you grew used to her indecisiveness after two turns. "Hotch, do you have any sixes?"

"Go fish." This time she narrows her eyes. "You don't believe me?"

"You know for someone who claims to be innocent you sure ask that question a lot which only arouses suspicion."

You roll your eyes at Reid but are sure to accompany it with a small smile.

"Yes! Thank you, Reid." JJ smiles at him and then over to you. "You playing fair Agent Hotchner?"

You give her an affronted look. "I'm insulted by your insinuation!"

"Quick on the defensive too," she says lightly. She leans forward to grab a card and winks at you which widens your smile. She snuggles deeper into her seat and rests her head in the corner of the headrest and wall of the jet. You stare at her and find you enjoy it when her playfulness is directed at you.

"Go, Hotch," Reid says, eager to move the game along. He is oblivious to any moment you and JJ may have shared and instead is studying his cards. You find this strange since he has an eidetic memory.

"You're impatient when you play card games." To your right JJ laughs. "Reid. Aces?"

The young man seated across from you throws down his cards. "I quit!" He gets up and heads to the bathroom.

Meanwhile you go to collect his cards to add to your hand.

"Hey! Why do you get them all?!"

You chuckle, amused by JJ's protest. "Because I'm the boss." The bantering is natural between the two of you and this time you wink at her.

She scrunches her nose again and then sticks out her tongue. Her eyes are twinkling with mischief. You quickly look at yours and Reid's cards in an effort to hide the adoration you're certain is showing on your face.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** The response to this story was great! I'm psyched to keep it going for a few more chapters! This segment is short, but one I really needed to write. I hope you like it as much as I do. Please let me know what you think! Each and every review and suggestion means a lot!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Criminal Minds.

The Hotch Chronicles – Segment 2

/4/

The first rule you tell all of the profilers on your team to abide by is to not become emotionally invested in a case. To do so could ruin an agent and it is something you've seen happen more than once. You are careful to follow this rule yourself and have the stoic mask to prove it. And while your track record pertaining to this rule is strong, Megan Mitchell is making a dent in it.

She sits in front of you, weeping softly as she remembers her father. He was found in a ditch two days ago and you and your team are here to catch the man that killed him and three other men. You carefully debate on what to say to the fragile 22-year-old who is sitting on a worn out couch that is in the corner of the station's break room.

You're at the doorway and you're here to discuss what kind of man Martin Mitchell was. You're here for clues as to who the unsub is, a standard procedure, but you are more concerned about the girl who has barely noticed you enter. You pull out a chair from the table and place it in front of Megan before taking a seat and resting your elbows on your knees.

"Megan, my name is Aaron. I'm sorry for your loss."

You briefly acknowledge to yourself that you've used your first name which is not your normal practice.

Megan meets your eyes for a fleeting second before she looks back down at her hands that are tugging on a tissue.

"I want to ask you about your father. Anything you can tell us about him will be helpful in trying to catch the man who is responsible for this." Her sniffles interrupt your delicately phrased words. You are doing your best to be sensitive and comforting but you know from personal experience there is not a thing anyone can say or do in situations such as these. No matter how hard you try, nothing will relieve any of the anguish Megan is feeling. For that, you feel guilty.

"He always had a soft spot for babies. He thought they were perfect. They always made him smile."

Her first words about her father capture your interest since they are so unique. Most people talk about their loved one's personality when asked the question you just inquired of Megan. "He was funny, he made everyone laugh" or, "when she entered a room everyone wanted to talk to her." Usually the last thing mentioned about a recently deceased loved one is their weaknesses, if they are voiced at all. From your experience, those in mourning typically focused on the victim's strengths.

"Everyone knew he couldn't wait to be the doting grandfather who spoiled his grandchild one day." Her cheeks move upwards as she smiles which make her tears switch direction on her face and get caught in her blonde hair. "And he always said that when he was going to buy himself a yellow Corvette when he retired." Megan looks off into the distance and you wait patiently for her to continue. "These two things always stuck out to me. They were the two things I wanted to give him the most. He was the perfect father, even after everything he went through."

Megan looks directly into your eyes when she tells you this. It is important to her that you know how amazing Martin Mitchell was.

"I wanted to buy him that Corvette with the flip-up headlights and give him a grandchild." She chuckles at the memories you assume are flashing through her head.

And then you watch as Megan releases a sob.

"I was pregnant. Early last year I was pregnant." Megan is breathing hard and you know she hasn't confessed this secret to many, if anyone. "I was in a new relationship with this guy and it was exciting even though I knew deep down it wasn't going to last and," she stops to take a deep breath and you know where this is going. "I knew he wanted me to get rid of it and I wanted to please him and I was scared and ashamed…and I did it! I got rid of it."

Megan's voice is one you never expected to hear on a 22-year-old. It is filled with hatred and self-deprecation. She looks directly into your eyes you see anger, fear, shame and guilt. "Me! I killed a child!"

Megan brings her hands to her face in mortification. In this moment you know she's told no one but you. She hugs herself and leans forward, bringing her head to her knees. Her emotional devastation has carried over into physical pain and this takes you aback.

You want to take her burden and carry it instead. You want to play the hero, as JJ would say, and the knowledge that you can't is upsetting to you. You are just about to go find her and have her take over for you when Megan straightens.

She takes a deep breath, willing herself to finish. "If I was just a little braver, I could have given Dad something that would have made him happy. Even if my actions disappointed him that baby would have been accepted by him. A grandchild he could have treasured, no matter for how short a time."

She tries her best, but raw emotion takes over her willpower and she breaks down into sobs. They echo in the small room which makes them seem as if they are ten times louder. And while you can't explain why, you no longer see Megan as a source for information but rather as a scared, little girl. Before you can block it, sympathy courses through you as she emotionally crumbles. You adjust positions in your seat because while you're anxious to comfort her, you need to remember your rules.

To an outsider, you look like a heartless bastard.

"I robbed my father of something that could have brought him so much joy. I was selfish! Even after all he had done for me. After everything—and I took it from him. And now he's dead!"

The girl is shaking uncontrollably now and her sobs are affecting you in a way you weren't anticipating. Megan's anguish is cracking your expertly placed, stoic exterior. You subconsciously glance towards the door and windows lining the far wall and you see the hallway is deserted. There is no one around to relieve you of the newfound sense of responsibility you have for Megan.

You stand and move to the couch, taking a seat next to her on the faded cushions. Words aren't necessary, you know, because no words at a time like this will do. Instead you lightly take her hand in yours, offering what little you are able to give. She leans into you, still crying, and the action makes you automatically wrap an arm around her shoulders.

And while you're still able to keep an indifferent expression on your face, you feel your heart break for Megan. The emotion you feel goes against everything you practice as an FBI agent but you don't fight it. This time, you allow it to settle within you instead. It forces your eyes closed while you whisper encouraging words to Megan that you know are empty to both of your ears.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Segment 3 is up! Some notes about the one-shots: 5) I've always thought so much more could have been done during season 6 after Emily was forced to go into witness protection, especially between JJ and the rest of the team. #5 is set in season 6, post "Lauren", 6) Set in season 8. Some of you may think Hotch's behavior is far fetched, but I've been watching some of the earlier episodes (season 1) and enjoyed the scenes where he interacted with the team without being so uptight. I wanted to bring that side of him back.

Secondly, I'd like to thank those who thoughtfully reviewed my writing. They are always very much appreciated. Please continue and to everyone else; if you have time after reading let me know what you think. What you like/don't like. It is always nice to receive honest feedback!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Criminal Minds.

The Hotch Chronicles – Segment 3

/5/

You hear a knock on the partially open door to your office. The sound surprises you since you know it is late. You look up and see JJ tentatively walk in.

"JJ?" Her presence is unexpected, especially since she doesn't work for you anymore.

"Hi, Hotch." Her greeting comes out in a breathy voice and you sense something is wrong.

You get up and walk to her. "What's wrong?"

You can see that she is taken aback by your directness. She looks as if she is about to turn and flee, perhaps thinking she made a mistake in bothering you, which is ridiculous. She may no longer be your agent, but she's still a friend. "JJ?" you encourage softly.

"I…" words fail her and her big, blue eyes are swimming with emotion that you know she is trying to control. She clears her throat before speaking. "I just uh, wanted to come and see how you were doing."

She turns towards the couch and gives you a shy look before walking over to it and sitting down. You're wondering what brought her here. The two of you never make social calls so you haven't seen her in a while. It has been at least a month since the two of you successfully plotted Prentiss' disappearance and you never expected JJ to show up at your office at 10pm one night to check up on how you're handling it. She is looking at you expectantly and you're wondering what she anticipates you're going to say.

You internally debate how honest you're willing to be in this moment. Showing vulnerability is simply something you never do. Yet, you feel like you don't have the strength to insist you're fine and deny that you've been sitting in your office reading the same report for an hour because none of it is registering. Emily's absence has distracted and traumatized your team and admittedly you, even though you are the one who participated in covering up her "death". You have mixed emotions ranging from guilt and relief to anger and sadness, but like always, you planned to deal with your grievances privately.

"I'm fine." Unfortunately your default answer doesn't appease the blonde seated before you. She almost looks disappointed in you for not answering her truthfully. You should have known this since she is the only person on the team—who used to be on the team, at least—that can read you, with the exception of Rossi. You sigh, take your hands out of your pockets and venture over to where she sits. In a rather ungraceful manner you collapse onto the couch, suddenly feeling heavy. You lean back and without looking at JJ you mutter the truth. "It's hard."

"Yeah. I'm not doing so well myself," she confesses as she leans back into the cushions too.

You figure the two of you are quite a sight; both slouched into your couch with your legs stretched out before you and your hands clasped on your torsos.

"It'll get better." Your empty reassurance is harsh even to your ears. When JJ scowls you turn your head to look at her. Up close you notice her eyes are puffy with faded, black circles under them which tells you she hasn't been sleeping. JJ does a double take when she realizes you're studying her and bites her lip. She gazes at the ceiling and her eyes water.

"I keep telling myself this is for the best." She keeps her response vague, mindful of where you two are. "It is hard to find a balance. How much should I be allowed to cry with Spencer when he comes over to my place in tears?" Her voice cracks. "I feel like I'm the ultimate hypocrite and cheating all the people _she_ cared about." A tear falls down the side of her face and loses itself in her hair. "Will knows something is wrong and keeps asking questions and I'm running out of answers. I've never lied to him before."

In all the years you've known her, JJ has always been a private person, much like yourself. Hearing her talk about Will and her life outside of the office is rare. The only other time JJ has shared something personal with you is when she told you about her sister.

She turns to meet your gaze full-on. "I can't keep my emotions out of this. I'm afraid I'm going to lose myself in this, Hotch."

You understand perfectly what "this" is. It is your mutual lie. Your shared deceitfulness.

"_This_ is necessary." You look upon her with sincerity, willing her to believe you. Your heart tightens when her face crumples as she tries to hold back a sob. You can't gather her in your arms because you two have boundaries so instead, you place a hand on top of hers. JJ immediately intertwines your fingers and tightly grips your hand.

"It's okay to lose it once in a while." You have said these words to her before while on a case a few years ago. Recognition settles in JJ's eyes.

"You don't lose it," she says, repeating her own words from the conversation you two shared.

Compared to your original answer all those years ago, you slightly alter your response. "Maybe this time I should."

/6/

You're studying the most recent case file that has come across your desk as you walk into the bullpen. You've been at the BAU for so many years that you unconsciously navigate between the desks as you head to your office.

"Your hair used to be that long?" Alex Blake says, clearly astonished. You slow as you near the cluster of desks where your team has gathered to socialize, from the sounds of it.

"Oh yeah! Kid here started to look like William Bonin reincarnated," Morgan teases. You wince at his choice of words.

"Morgan!" JJ chides, as if reading your thoughts.

"I am not the reincarnation of the Freeway Killer, Morgan!" Reid protests. "And besides, he had a mustache!"

You wish Reid wouldn't give in to Morgan's instigations so easily. If anything, the older agent will use it as fuel for more provocation. You continue to hang back a short distance behind the group and read some more about a case in Lincoln, Nebraska. Three stabbings and no leads. Detectives found…

"You know that the dude had a mustache?" Morgan stops and rethinks his question. "Ah, nevermind. Of course you do."

"Well he has one of the most recognizable mug shots of all time, so yes. I do."

"Reid, long hair or short; you know way too much."

"You're just figuring this out?" Rossi jokes as he comes down the steps and joins the conversation. You glance up from your reading and the two of you share a smirk.

"Well Morgan did you _ever_ have hair?" Blake's deadpan is impressive, if you do say so yourself. You take her comment as your cue to enter the discussion.

"I don't think so, but he used to wear a suit and tie to work everyday." Your focus remains on the pages in front of you, but it is mostly because you don't want to be caught sending Morgan an evil grin.

"Morgan? In a suit and tie?" Blake says in disbelief. "Yeah, right!"

"That is right!" JJ exclaims. "I remember when Garcia bumped into you one day and you were so mad you had to get the suit dry cleaned twice in the same week."

"I'm jealous I wasn't around for your dashing suit days," Rossi teases.

"It was a phase," Derek groans out, clearly not liking the quick turn of the conversation.

"Well why don't you wear them now?" Blake asks.

You close the file in your hands and give Morgan your full attention. "Yes, I've always been curious myself."

"I…" Morgan struggles to come up with a response so you raise an eyebrow.

You know Morgan won't say anything against wearing a suit and tie to work, since that's all you wear. He looks around, probably for Garcia to rescue him, but she's tucked away in her office.

The tables have turned and you're trying not to enjoy this too much.

"You should start wearing them again," Reid says with a victorious smile. He knows Morgan is trapped and is rightfully pleased about it.

"Yeah, you should." Rossi contributes, crossing his arms. At Morgan's scowl he shrugs. "Strapping young man like yourself, bet you'd be an even bigger hit with the ladies."

"I'm already a big hit with the ladies!" Morgan proclaims, obviously offended.

JJ's laughing and at Morgan's inquisitive look she explains. "Admit it, these days you wouldn't last a week wearing a suit to the office everyday."

"I could too!" Morgan gets up and walks over to you, patting you on the back. "But, I can't steal Hotch's thunder."

You can't wipe the smirk off your face. "I'm not worried about my thunder. JJ's right. You wouldn't be able to pull it off." You smack your file against his shoulder before walking towards your office.

"I'm afraid Hotch is right," Rossi reiterates as he goes to follow you. It is moments such as these that you are pleased he can read you so well. That he knows exactly what you're doing.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! I can pull it off. You guys think I can't handle wearing a suit? Okay, let's bet on it!"

You and Dave stop in front of your office and share a knowing look. "You'd think a profiler would know better," Dave mumbles before the two of you turn back to Morgan.

"Morgan, bet or no bet, you won't be able to do it," JJ tells him, catching on to your plan. She used to manipulate the media on a daily basis so Morgan, you're sure, is a piece of cake.

He gives JJ an affronted look, as if he is insulted that anyone suggested he couldn't do something. "I could too!"

"I doubt it," you say for antagonizing purposes only.

It is rare you participate in conversations like this with your team but today you're in a good mood and yesterday you're eight-year-old son told you that you needed to lighten up.

"You know," Blake interrupts. "We could make this interesting." She crosses her arms and looks from you to Morgan. "Morgan, you wear a suit for a week and Hotch dresses down. We'll see who caves first."

For the new girl you have to admit she has a lot of guts.

"That is a great idea," Rossi enthusiastically agrees. You glare at him so he'll stop encouraging the situation.

"I like it!" JJ grins.

And _this_ is why you do not participate in conversations like this with your team.

You look to each of your team members and you think they've lost their minds. Your eyes land on Morgan and his cocky smirk and suddenly a spark of competitiveness ignites in your chest.

"I'm in."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Segment 4 is up! A quick note about the one shots: 7) not necessarily in canon if you decide to read into the last part, though this one is one of my favorites! 8) in canon and set in season 8. With both, I hope I satisfactorily kept everyone in character—let me know!

Also – I know a few of you asked for a sequel to #6. Technically these are all one-shots with no relation to the other. HOWEVER, maybe I can make an exception in one of the later chapters Stay tuned and review please!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Criminal Minds.

The Hotch Chronicles – Segment 4

/7/

"Garcia while I admire your enthusiasm I can't allow you to decorate the bullpen with garland and lights."

"But sir! It's Christmas! The time for joyous festivities! I can't be joyous in a non-festive environment!"

"Garcia you are the one person I know that can always find a way to be joyous."

"Thank you, sir but that's not the point."

You stop writing and look up from your report. "It isn't?"

"No!" she responds, clearly affronted you thought differently. "We need some holiday cheer in this place!"

Based on her outfit, you find it odd that your tech analyst feels the need to spread even more holiday cheer.

"I mean we practically live here!" She slaps the folder on her lap to accentuate her point. "Don't you want to try and make people happy when they are forced to be here rather than at home with their cocoa and chestnuts over their open fires?"

This time you set your pen down and lean back in your chair. You give her a skeptical look because even after all these years, you still don't fully understand the mind of Penelope Garcia. "Chestnuts?"

She must catch on that you think this conversation is a little ridiculous because she straightens and smoothes out her candy cane scarf before trying again. "Sir I think my request is fairly reasonable considering," Garcia says in her best diplomatic voice.

You decide to humor her because until you do, she will not drop it. You rest your elbows on your desk and clasp your hands. "Considering what?"

"Just…everything!" Garcia splays out her hands as if she's flabbergasted by your question and you raise an eyebrow at her familiar dramatics. "I mean we are a family, aren't we? Which brings me to my next request." Garcia clasps her hands in her lap, takes a deep breath and goes in for the kill. "A Christmas tree in the conference room."

Now you've heard it all. "No."

You pick up your pen and begin to get back to work; anything to convey this conversation is over.

"Just a small one!"

But you also know Garcia doesn't take hints very well. Or, perhaps she does but chooses to ignore them.

"No."

"But why? We need something in there to lighten the mood and realign our auras when we are surrounded by the ickyness of unsubs!"

You sigh at her persistence. "Garcia that is what the conference room is meant for; to examine the…ickyness…of the cases we are investigating." You inwardly cringe at you use of Garcia's unique vocabulary before continuing. "_Not _for Christmas trees."

"But—"

"No."

"Okay then." She sits there and mentally checks off "Christmas Tree" in her head. Now she is staring at you with an innocent look, but you know better. You raise your eyebrows, letting her know you're not fooled and are waiting for her to speak. "Where can I hang the mistletoe?"

"Absolutely not." You take your pen and point it at her, making your point as clear as possible.

"Not even over your door?" She gives you a hopeful smile and you are getting exasperated. Penelope Garcia is bubbly, peppy and flamboyant, but that doesn't explain why she thinks hanging mistletoe in the BAU is appropriate.

"Especially not over my door Garcia. Or yours. Or Morgan's." You briefly wonder if you should clarify any other doors, just for good measure, but then you realize you don't have that kind of time.

"Oh!" Garcia's eyes grow big. "Are you concerned we're showing favoritism towards Christians? We can always set up a few menorahs and snowflakes. And I'm sure we can find some Kwanza things—"

"Hold on!" You raise you hand to stop her. "Hold on! There's no 'we', Garcia. No. Decorations."

She slouches in her seat and you hope she's finally giving in.

"Why not?" she whines. "Your office could use some sprucing up!" she motions to the room the two of you have been sitting in for the past fifteen minutes. It astounds you how quickly she can go from disappointment to excitement and do so in one breath. You close your eyes and pinch your nose because you're pretty sure you have a migraine coming on.

"Okay bad idea," she concedes without further comment from you.

"I'm glad you think so." You're thankful for small victories, but you're a debate for nutcrackers and sugar plums is next.

"I'm not going to win this argument, am I?" Her question makes you do a double take seeing as you thought this conversation was going to last for at least another ten minutes.

At the sight of her defeated face you almost feel bad. You attempt to let her down easy. "Not likely, Garcia. I'm sorry."

"Okay." She shrugs and stands, slowly trudging out of your office.

You purse your lips and run a hand down your face. Unhappy isn't a good look on Penelope Garcia. Your eyes land on a picture Jack drew for you of a Christmas tree that is sitting on your desk, tucked into a picture frame. You suppose it is nice to have. You roll your eyes and give in.

"Garcia? You can go ahead with the _small_ Christmas tree."

The transformation is instant and glaringly obvious. Garcia is bouncing on the balls of her feet in the middle of your office with a large grin on her face. You stand up and hold out a finger in warning. "Small, Garcia." She's clapping and nodding and can't stand still. You place your hands on your hips and drop your head and because you can't believe you're saying all of this. You look back up and are met with the bundle of energy that also happens to be your tech analyst. "And if people want to hang _some_ garland on their desks, fine. But no lights."

"Okay, sir!" she answers, but her eyes are glazed over with her undeniable excitement.

Suddenly you realize that she probably isn't hearing any of your instructions. You follow her as she begins to make a hasty exit, probably to get a start on the decorations. "And no mistletoe. And I'm talking _minimal _decorations, Garcia, or it will all have to come down, understood?" you call after her as she makes her way out your door.

You stop at the doorway and are wondering if you just made a big mistake. JJ comes to a stop next to you after hearing your last statement. She crosses her arms and smirks.

"Hotch, Garcia doesn't do minimal," she chastises.

At JJ's words Garcia immediately swivels around before she takes the steps down into the bullpen. "No! It's okay, I can do minimal!"

You breathe a small sigh of relief and give your tech analyst a quick nod. "Very good."

Garcia practically skips away as she finally heads back to her office. Out of the corner of your eye you see JJ shake her head as she leans against your doorframe. She is struggling not to laugh at your presumed naivety. You glare at her and she does her best to quiet down but is failing miserably. Her soft snorts and chuckles make the corner of your lips move upwards.

Suddenly Garcia stops and turns back to you, and JJ, again.

"Sir?" she folds her hands in front of her and you suspect mischief. "I think you should know that I experimented with some décor possibilities before speaking with you."

Her words put you on guard. Sensing trouble, you watch your tech analyst closely. "How do you mean?" you ask her, narrowing your eyes.

With a sneaky smile she points just above yours and JJ's heads. "Mistletoe."

/8/

This case was a bad one.

You feel jaded in saying so since, in actuality, _all_ of them are bad. However, all you have to do is remember the crime scenes you've visited the past few days to know this case was harder than most.

You're standing just outside the old house in Florida—why are all the bad ones in Florida?—looking for him. The red and blue flashing lights illuminate the front yard that sits next to the dirt road but you still don't see Reid anywhere.

Your youngest profiler was acting odd during the whole case. You knew something was off, but chose to let him handle it. Now, you're not so sure he can. His reaction to the crime scene—an especially grotesque one—was severe, to the point where he mumbled an "excuse me" and ran out. You and Rossi were left behind in the living room amongst the rotting, severed limbs and crime scene techs. Dave offered to follow him but you decided it was better for you to go.

You see Morgan and JJ talking with Blake by the big willow tree and venture over to them. Rather than alarm them about your AWOL agent, you subtly insert yourself into the conversation without mention of Reid.

"Did you find anything upstairs?"

"No. It was in pristine shape. Clean…normal. Nothing suspicious," Blake answers you.

"Are we sure about that? The living room suggests otherwise." The four of you glance at the front door. You turn back just in time to see JJ wince.

"Bad?"

You nod since you can't bring yourself to describe the unsub's atrocities towards innocent children. JJ looks down and angles herself away from the house and you know it is because she is trying not to think of Henry.

"But why there? I mean it is the first room you see when you enter the house. It has a bay window facing the front yard. It doesn't make sense, Hotch." Morgan looks to you for answers you don't have.

"You're right it doesn't. But the owner of the house is dead and he wasn't our unsub. So, we need to go through everything again. Upstairs and down." You look at them and can tell they don't want to go. However, you trust their professionalism and know they will do what needs to be done. It is the only way to bring justice to all of the children and their mourning families.

The group begins to disperse. "Has anyone seen Reid?"

"Wasn't he with you and Rossi?" Morgan asks, confused.

"Yes, but he came outside."

JJ looks from Morgan to Blake and then to you. "We didn't see him."

You clench your jaw. "Okay."

You turn back towards the street and gaze about, growing more concerned. Your eyes land on one of the FBI SUVs and you decide you might as well try there. You approach the vehicle but cannot see inside it due to the tinted windows. You open the driver's door and immediately see Reid sitting in the passenger's seat.

"Reid?"

He takes a moment before acknowledging you and when he does, his voice is quiet. "Hi, Hotch."

You purse your lips and get into the vehicle, closing the door to shut out the commotion. You angle yourself towards the young man seated beside you. You don't say anything because you know your silence is all the prompting Reid needs.

"I'm having trouble compartmentalizing." He speaks these words slowly, as if he can't believe them himself.

"We all do once in a while."

He looks at you and frowns. You know he is disappointed with himself. "I ran out on you guys, Hotch. Then I threw up like some rookie. Then I came in here to hide."

It is clear to you that he is ashamed by his behavior. You recall his atypical conduct during the last three days and you wonder if it is really the circumstances of the case that is the cause of his struggles.

"You've been acting differently throughout the whole case. Ever since Garcia presented it. What's going on?"

Reid sits facing forward. He doesn't react to your words but you see his eyes follow the various people running around outside. He has yet to answer so you try another approach. "Reid it would be unreasonable for me to assume that you can take everything that is thrown at you. You aren't expected to lose your humanity in order to be an asset to this team."

At your words Reid clenches his fists before relaxing his hands on his lap. His body language screams frustration.

"I can't be an asset if I'm running away from crime scenes and isolating myself from you guys." He still doesn't meet your eyes, but you can tell he isn't done speaking. "It is ridiculous, really. I mean if anyone should be acting this way it should be you. Or JJ." You raise your eyebrows at Reid's suggestion. "You each have Jack and Henry. I don't have kids. This case relates to you two more than it does me. It's stupid. Of all people it shouldn't be me having a hard time with this case. I'm being irrational and—"

"Reid, slow down." You raise your hands to calm his rambling. When you have his attention you continue. "Kids or not this case is hard on everyone. I appreciate your concern but it isn't your responsibility to worry about me. And JJ's given no indication that she can't handle things. You need to trust us."

"I do. I do trust you but I owe you. You came running the moment I called you about Maeve. And JJ came to my place all the time to check on me even though I'd never answer the door."

"You don't owe anything, Reid. Supporting each other doesn't mean there's a debt to be paid."

Your voice is stern and commanding, leaving no room for argument. The two of you sit in silence; Reid staring straight ahead and you at him. It is clear to you that the young profiler isn't telling you everything.

"Reid, have you considered that you are simply running out of fuel? Within the past two months you've faced two cases that were pretty personal."

Reid swallows and takes a deep breath. He doesn't bother to deny your words and that surprises you. You're also wary. If one of your agents can't handle the field, you prefer to know that before they are actually in the field on a case.

"Do you need me to pull you off this case, Reid?" You'd hate to lose him since the case just blew wide open but in a way he isn't 100% with you anyways. "Why don't you head back to the hotel and get some sleep. We'll re-evaluate things in the morning."

You're about to exit the car but Reid bristles beside you. With your hand on the door handle you pause. "Reid?"

"Evaluate…" he mumbles. Reid's eyes light up and he snaps a finger. Almost as if he is physically snapping himself out of his funk, you muse.

"Hotch! Our unsub was in a mental institution, right?"

"Right." You recognize Reid's excitement—it is the same kind he gets when he is about to ramble off a statistic of his.

Soon, you're listening to him verbally work out a missing piece of the puzzle. What he says is logical, rational and is a glimpse of the Reid you're used to. His brilliance cracks through the troubled, lost man that was seated next to you only moments ago. Reid leaves his insecurity behind him and allows his intellect to take over, ultimately bringing out his personality.

While you know that Reid's struggles are nowhere near over, his determination to do his best is evident and for that you are proud.

When he is done, you're already in agreement with his theory. You offer him a curt nod for his job well done and tell him: "Let's go!"


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** Hi! It has been a while, huh? These are two quick scenes that popped into my head this morning. I know a lot of you wanted a "sequel" to #6, so #9 is for you. Forgive my slight indulgence into the JJ/Hotch fandom in #10, though I made it as realistic as possible. Please review (if you forgive me for waiting so long to update).

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Criminal Minds.

The Hotch Chronicles – Segment 5

/9/

You look at the options in front of you. Four pairs of jeans, all in various dark shades, two long sleeve shirts and two button down shirts with thin, multi-colored pinstripes. You've dragged the items out of your closet and drawers and laid them all on your bed. To you, making your selections was a guessing game because really, you have no idea what you are going to wear.

You release a sigh and place your hands on your hips.

It's Monday and the competition has begun.

You really think you are at a disadvantage because you've never dressed casually at work in your entire career. Morgan has at least worn suits before. You scoff. Putting together a jacket and tie outfit is much easier than…this. You bite your lip, something you haven't done in a long time, as consider your possible wardrobe pieces for the day.

After a moment you go for the darkest blue jeans you have because you feel ridiculous standing there, looking at your bed in nothing but your boxer-briefs, an undershirt and socks. After slipping on the pants, you resume your prior stance and stare at the shirts. You think making a decision is going to be impossible. You just CANNOT DECIDE.

You feel like a girl.

And you're utterly lost.

You called Dave last night, planning to ask for advice on what to wear today but once he answered, you thought the notion of talking about clothes with Rossi was purely ridiculous.

You glance at the clock to gauge how much time you have. Perhaps you should've woken up earlier to give yourself extra time to get ready. You shake your head. Yes, you're officially a girl.

You reach out and your hand hovers over one of the cotton shirts. It is the closest thing you have to the shirts Morgan wears. However, your eyes are wandering to the collared, button down next to it with thin green and blue pinstripes. You grab it because you can't show up to the office in jeans _and_ a casual shirt or Strauss may have a heart attack.

You throw on the shirt before you can change your mind and begin to button the cuffs.

But you really want to win this thing. And it is fun to prove people wrong.

So instead, you roll up the sleeves.

You take a look at yourself in the mirror and decide you've done well. You nod your head and are convinced the team will be impressed at your ability to "dress down". And that you own something colorful. Your confidence takes over and maybe by Friday you'll rock something even more casual, but for now, you're just proud you actually threw this ensemble together.

When you go to your dresser to retrieve the watch that Haley gave you for your anniversary years ago, you feel a sense of calmness. You feel relaxed when dressed like this. You hate to admit it, but Morgan may be on to something.

On your way out of your bedroom you glance at the clock again and know you'll be a little late. You smirk and decide not to worry about it. If you have to dress down like Morgan, you should be allowed to mimic his tardiness too.

/10/

How you got to this point, you'll never know. You were chasing the unsub through the building, up to the roof, and now you are at its edge, desperately hanging on to Rossi's grip.

"Come on, Aaron, come on," your friend grunts. He is grimacing from his exertion.

You feel helpless because you can't get a good enough grip on the ledge with your free hand and Grant hit you in the gut with a pipe before you went over. You squint and groan as you try again. "Shit!" you mutter when your hand slips. Your heart stops and you pray Rossi's grip is as secure as it feels. Dangling, you look down and are reminded that you ran up seven flights of stairs.

"Don't look down, you idiot!"

You look back to Rossi.

"I got you Aaron." Rossi looks you square in the eye and you believe him. The man has never lied to you before and has always steered you in the right direction. You give him a curt nod in understanding and raise your free arm back up towards the roof.

Both of you feel your hands getting sweaty. Dave adjusts his grip, lowering it and quickly grabs your arm and you feel yourself rise a few inches. You reach up for the ledge again and are able to get a better grip on it. In the back of your mind you feel your arms scraping against the brick, burning your skin through your shirt. You recognize the straining of muscles and think you are on the verge of tearing a few ligaments.

But you don't focus on your evident injuries and instead you will yourself upwards. You do it for Jack, for yourself, for the team. They were the people who mattered most to you, and you couldn't let them down.

You rise again and you don't know if it is your willpower or Dave, but you'll take it.

"Oh my God! Hotch!" JJ's head appears above you and she grabs your free arm.

"On three," Dave says. "One, two, THREE!"

The three of you work together and soon you feel Dave's hand on your back and JJ's arms around you. You instinctively pull yourself towards them and soon, the three of you are in a small pile on the rooftop. You hear nothing but your heavy panting and the occasional car horn blasting in New York traffic below.

You're absolutely spent so you don't move your head from JJ's stomach. The whole ordeal lasted less than five minutes, you rationally think, but it feels like a year has passed. In your peripheral vision you see Dave sit up, his chest heaving. "Okay?" he asks.

You nod against JJ's shirt and try to slow down your breathing. You've never been more exhausted in your life and you're not sure if your limbs will work. You lazily try to lift the arm that is draped across JJ but it is taking too much effort. JJ's hands are on you, one in your hair, another on your back, patting it. You think she is doing it to assure herself you are still here. At least, that's what the light taps are doing for you. You close your eyes and before you realize what you're doing, you bury your face into her pink blouse in relief. Her patting stops and she lightly squeezes you. "You're okay, Hotch."

Her voice is warm and soft, just like her shirt. You know you're safe, just as you know you should get up because it'd be a tricky thing explaining this compromising position. You greedily allow yourself a few more moments of JJ's comforting before you finally push yourself off of her. Unexpectedly, your right arm gives out and before you fall back down on JJ, you angle yourself sideways and land on your back next to her.

"Aaron? What is it?" Dave asks as he disconnects his call to the others. He drops his cell phone into his pocket and leans over you.

"I think I," you pause, because you feel pain crawling throughout your body. "…dislocated my shoulder,"

"The medics are on their way," Dave tells you. He looks concerned.

You don't want him to worry. "Other than that I'm fine," you say. Your words are effortless because you've mastered them over the years.

"Did you hit your head?"

"No," you answer truthfully, though Dave does not look convinced. His doubtful look makes you reconsider. Did you hit your head? You honestly don't remember. "I don't think so," you confess.

"What happened?" JJ asks from your side, where she is perched on her legs. She alternates from you to Dave, question, concern and surprise in her eyes.

"Unsub," you croak out. You wince at the jolt of pain in your shoulder. It is clear to you that your adrenaline is wearing off and you think you are about to pass out. You haven't felt pain like this since your SUV exploded. Since Kate.

You avoid JJ's and Dave's eyes by keeping yours closed.

"Yeah, Morgan and I intercepted him in the alley. He's in custody. I came up here to find out where you two were. I thought…" JJ allows her voice to drift away.

"We chased Grant up here. We were going to corner him so we split up. The next thing I see is Aaron hanging off the edge."

You open your eyes, ready to explain further, but you're so tired. You turn towards JJ and are face to face with her pink shirt. You wish you were still lying with her and you frown at your line of thinking. It is JJ. Not Haley, not Kate. JJ. You can't think about the implications of your wish so you decide you must be delirious from the pain. People don't think straight in delirium.

Just before you pass out, you see JJ's worried, beautiful face and hear Dave calling your name.


End file.
